Page 60 of Love & Letter Charms
Instead, she’d managed a serene smile and said, “No, Grandmother.”
“He hasn’t attempted anything … improper?”
Does spending half an hour alone together in the music room count?
“Of course not, Grandmother.”
“Good. He is a dreadful specimen—spends his days and nights flirting his way about the United Fae Isles. Stars help us all when he ascends the throne.”
Aurelise had nodded dutifully, though her mind was already wandering—to the memory of him beneath the starlight, hisvoice low and thoughtful as he spoke of the Shaded Lands, and to the sight of him outside the palace kitchens, sleeves rolled up as he helped the herb master lift a heavy planter, sunlight glinting in his hair. That easy, unstudied smile.
“I think perhaps you might be wrong, Grandmother,” she had mused.
Lady Rivenna’s head had snapped around, her gaze sharp as always. “What was that, young lady?”
Oh, stars, had she said that out loud? “Oh—I simply said—yes, you are right, Grandmother.”
“Did he not find the historical evolution of spoon design dull enough?” Rosavyn asked, drawing Aurelise’s attention back to the present.
“Oh, I haven’t attempted that particular topic yet, but I did ramble about opinionated plants and he quite literally fled in the opposite direction, so I thought my efforts had succeeded. But then he selected me to open the dancing at the ball, and he told me he found my comments charming, so I’m genuinely perplexed about what qualifies as ‘dull’ these days.”
She directed a frown at her teacup as she lifted it. “You needn’t concern yourselves, though,” she added as she lifted the cup toward her lips. “He’s assured me he won’t be choosing me. And now that that particular worry is resolved, I find I actually … don’t particularly mind his company.”
Mariselle gave her a knowing smile. “Did I not suggest he might possesses slightly more depth than his reputation would indicate?”
“Well, whether he possesses hidden qualities or not,” Rosavyn said, reaching across the table for Aurelise’s hand, “the fact remains that you have survived a full fortnight of this Crown Court with remarkable fortitude. I am exceedingly proud of you, little Lise.”
A fortnight. Had it truly been so short a time? In the ten days since she’d completed dare number two on R’s list—explore somewhere new and bring back evidence—Aurelise had barely had a moment to contemplate which challenge might be feasible to attempt next. She’d skipped firmly over number three (the mere thought of deliberately flirting with someone still made her stomach perform uncomfortable acrobatics), and before she could properly evaluate the remaining options, she’d been swept into the relentless current of Crown Court obligations.
There had been an afternoon of lawn games where she’d desperately tried to fade into the background while Lady Bernelle demonstrated her superior croquet skills with enthusiasm that bordered on aggression. A musicale the following evening where each Crown Court lady had been expected to perform—Aurelise’s magical music had at least spared her the mortification of conversation afterward, as everyone seemed rather stunned into silence. The remainder of the evening had passed in an unusually peaceful manner, with tempers and rivalries apparently subdued. Then came the first of the afternoon teas, hosted by Lady Ellowa with such rigid perfection that Aurelise had been afraid to breathe wrong lest she disturb the militant symmetry of the table settings.
Each evening, she’d collapsed onto her bed once Marta had unpinned her hair, loosened her gown, and bid her a fond goodnight, too weary for anything else. Well,nearlytoo weary. She always found energy enough to write to R.
Their correspondence remained the most cherished part of her day. A delicious warmth unfurled in her chest each time she opened the box and found one of his letters waiting within. When she paused long enough to think about it, she realized her reactions—the fluttering pulse, the breath she forgot to take, the heat that rose to her cheeks—had only grown more intense since their exchange had resumed. It was alarming, really. Butfortunately, she’d been far too busy (and far too tired) to dwell on the matter for long.
And suddenly, though it had seemed a lifetime away when she’d arrived at Solstice Hall, her first fortnight was complete. She’d found herself climbing into a carriage with surprisingly mixed feelings, eager to see her family but also realizing she would miss Thimble and Spark—and that beautiful pianoforte she had played twice more since the prince first introduced her to it.
“I do apologize for my tardiness,” a familiar voice announced, and Kazrian appeared at their table, carrying the distinct aroma of the kitchen about him—cinnamon and butter and something wonderfully sweet.
“Finally!” Rosavyn exclaimed, straightening as Kazrian slipped into the chair directly beside Aurelise. “We were beginning to think you’d forgotten us entirely.”
“Never. I was merely detained in conversation.”
“Oh?” Aurelise studied her twin, who had yet to meet her gaze. “With Grandmother?”
“With Lucie,” he said, still not looking at her. “Grandmother’s set her to enchanting the most dangerously delicious lemon drops in the kitchen. Positively addictive. I swear she’s better at that than most fae confectioners, and the magic isn’t even hers.”
Aurelise nudged him lightly with her elbow, and at last he glanced her way. She lifted both brows in silent inquiry. He narrowed his, a faint flush rising above his collar. They held one another’s gaze, and though neither said a word, Aurelise understood all she needed to. Her brother’s feelings, it seemed, remained unchanged from what they had been last Season.
They both looked away. Neither of them would speak of this aloud. They both understood the impossibility of a fae gentleman developing feelings for a human girl, no matter howlovely or kind she might be. The social chasm between their worlds remained vast, despite recent progress.
Though as Aurelise glanced around the tea house, she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes that had taken root over the past year or two. There, at a corner table, sat Mrs. Stonemore with her daughter, both possessed of the distinctly rounded ears that marked their human heritage rather than the elegant points of fae. Near the window, Mr. White held a teacup in one hand while reading The Gilded Gazette.
The transformation had begun with Iris, during her apprenticeship at The Charmed Leaf. She’d hosted an event and, to the absolute horror of Bloomhaven’s traditional elite, had extended invitations to several human families. The gossip birds had nearly molted from the excitement of carrying such shocking news, but Iris hadn’t retreated, and neither had Lady Rivenna. Together, they’d gradually opened the doors wider, welcoming anyone who wished to experience the magic and warmth of the establishment.
But not all of society had embraced this change. Aurelise noticed how other patrons gave the human guests a deliberately wide berth, how conversations quieted when they passed, how some fae ladies clutched their reticules a bit tighter as though proximity to humanity might somehow diminish their consequence. It explained why, despite the official welcome, she saw so few humans among the crowd.
“Oh, Kazrian,” she said, suddenly remembering, “I wanted to ask your opinion on something. There is a peculiar chandelier in one of the drawing rooms at Solstice Hall that creates a strange thrumming, chattering sound whenever the room is full, but I discovered something rather curious. I was attempting to calm my own nerves—just a touch of my own magic, barely a whisper of melody—but the magic seemed to influence the chandelier as well. The awful noise ceased entirely.”
